Teach Me Something
by Last of the Lilac Wine
Summary: When Peter becomes a training instructor he thinks he will be the best, but his desire to win and succeed soon leads him to unorthodox methods in order to ensure his class come out on top. To rein him in, Max assigns him a single student to instruct...hoping that Natalie will be able to teach Peter a few lessons, too, along the way. Peter/OC


**A/N** Please be gentle. I have not read the Divergent book series, so I'm not overly familiar with the 'rules' surrounding the world. I've seen the films, though, and I love the characters, so I decided to try out this story I've had in my head for a while. Let me know what you think - my OC will appear next chapter. I have yet to decide whether it will be from her or Peter's POV, or a mixture of the two.

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 **PROLOGUE**

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Peter sits in the boardroom on the wrong side of the fancy, glass table and wonders what it must feel like to actually be in control of a situation. Somehow, his whole life has felt like a constant fucking free-fall, and no matter how hard he tries (and no matter how many people he tries to push down into the mud beneath him), he can't seem to reign it in. He looks at the people sat across from him: there's Max, leader of Dauntless, so relaxed that he might as well be lying down in his chair; Eric, scowling and broad-shouldered; Four serious, but unconcerned; a dark haired intern acting as secretary and finally – and this is the one that really stings – Tris. How had the Stiff managed to do so well for herself? He remembers her at the beginning of training in her grey nun dress. She'd been from Abnegation. He had been so sure she would be a certain fail. And then she'd passed their training. She'd beat him in a fight. They'd both tried out for the leadership programme and her class _always_ did better than his. No matter what he did. No matter how hard he pushed the kids that came to him, they just never seemed to be good enough.

When did these people sat across from him suddenly get their shit together? When did they get _their_ lives all figured out? Was it some kind of epiphany? Were they just lucky?

When did he, Peter, become the underdog? When did he become such a goddamn _loser_ , for that matter?

He grimaces in his seat. When did he become such a whiny little bitch?

The answer he would be given if he had asked the question aloud – he has no doubt – would be 'always'. People didn't like him here. He hadn't exactly made the best first impression, and that had never bothered him until now. Until he was sat in this stupid boardroom, on the _wrong_ side of the table, facing all the leaders of Dauntless.

Fuck, they must think this was really serious.

Were they going to kick him out? He had always thought he was Dauntless through and through. He had always been pretty sure if they were allowed to give you your test results he would have been 100% Dauntless. Brave and daring had always just kind of been equated in his head with being able to beat a dude up and come out without a scratch himself. He'd thought power came from intimidation. That being strong arose from making others feel weak. It's funny that it took a year or so _after_ his training to figure out that this might not be the case.

Kind of made you question the whole aptitude test thing in the first place.

The thought makes Peter's skin crawl and he sets his jaw, shifting in his seat uncomfortably once more. He can't seem to sit still. Embarrassingly, he's physically sweating, and the back of his shirt is stuck to the leather of the chair. He has to remind himself strictly that he cannot have the kind of doubts he is entertaining. People like Jeanine would sniff out self-doubt pretty quick. He _belonged_ in Dauntless. He did. He epitomized everything they stood for.

 _So why the hell are you about to become a Factionless, genius_? His brain mocks back at him.

Mercifully, Max finally breaks the silence in the room and it stops him from chewing himself up any more.

"Alright, let's get this started –" he says, indicating to the intern to turn the tape recorder on by swivelling his wheelie chair in their direction. "The time is 9 am. It's…Monday 7th March. The leaders of Dauntless have gathered to discuss the case of Peter Hayes –" Max begins to reel off information from a file in front of him, which probably has his whole personal history on, down to what time of the day he usually takes a dump. "Passed his initiation three years ago….graduated to training instructor in our fifty-second class, passing with 89% -"

89%. The highest ranking in the class of instructors that year. There was a rumour that Eric himself – the highest qualified instructor - had passed with a score of 95. Peter hadn't been far off him.

Max must have caught the brief self-satisfied smile on his face that he could never hide. "Yeah, frankly, we thought we had the next Dauntless prodigy on our hands. I mean, test score of 89? You got, what - Eric?"

"95%" Eric throws out indifferently, as if the fact hardly fazes him.

"95%" Max echoes, he turns back to address Peter – "and with your performance history we thought we were on to a real winner. Some of your colleagues raised concerns, but I gave you the benefit of the doubt and I ignored them."

Peter's gaze meets Four's across the table, and he resists the urge to glare. _Some of your colleagues._ Yeah, as if Four didn't want to pay him back for trying to do in his girlfriend during initiation. Of course the dude had tried to sink his Dauntless career before it had even started. Peter wets his lips, trying to edge in before Max gears himself up to the inevitable shit-storm he is clearly intending on unleashing. "See, and I appreciate that you had that faith in me, and I tried to live up to those expectations, I really did. I didn't want to let you down, Max. That was never my intention." He runs a hand through his hair distractedly, trying to find the words to convey what no one else seems to see: that he's always _tried,_ he's always _cared…_ just somehow, he always got it wrong, and he always messed up. "I've always tried…so… _fucking_ hard at everything here –"

"No, you didn't. There's a difference between _trying_ and lowballing everything. I'm talking cutting corners, kid. I'm talking fabricating your students' test-scores. I'm talking intimidation. Fraud. _Criminal_ activity –" Max ticks each sin off on a finger for emphasis. "You were the teacher from _hell_."

"Said…who, exactly?" Peter ventures - even though he doesn't want to hear the answer. Even though, as soon as he says it, he knows he should have kept his mouth shut. But that has always been his problem. His Mom always said – his wise mouth would get him in trouble.

"Try all of your students, ever, Peter," Four cuts in, exasperation dripping from every single one of his words.

"Bit harsh, but okay," Peter shoots back.

"You had your entire class gang up on Holly in some god-damn _fight_ _pit_. You're lucky she survived!"

"I was trying to teach her in real life sometimes you're outnumbered in a fight," he protests, and then indicates across the table between them. "Kind of like I am right now."

"It was thirteen against one, you idiot," Four practically spits out. "Her eye was almost gouged out."

"Let's just say you were over-enthusiastic," Eric interjects, rolling his eyes. "If you were trying to impress us in your own sick, weird, twisted way, you didn't succeed, but I guess you get brownie points for trying."

"It was gross misconduct, Eric," Four snaps at him.

"I think that's extreme. I'd call it plain idiocy," Eric returns, neutrally – which cuts deeper than anything. It's like a physical punch to the stomach. Hadn't _Eric_ been the one to dangle Christina off a fucking ledge by her arm? Hadn't he tormented them as initiates? Made their lives a living hell? Peter stares into the other man's uncaring, icy eyes in disbelief. He'd just been trying to _be like_ Eric, but apparently he'd messed up at that, too.

"I admit guys, I crossed the line –"

" _Boy_ , you went so far past the line, you can't even _see_ it," Max returns, bluntly. "I don't know _what_ was going through your head, or if you thought you wouldn't be found out –"

"My personal favourite part is when he tried to tamper with the simulation results," Eric drawled, deliberately drawing the sentence out to inflict maximum pain. "By adding narcotics to the drug."

"It was just the ju-ju serum they put in the bread in Amity! I figured if their heart-rates were steady you'd think they were doing well!"

"Not to mention they woke up stoned, or did you think we wouldn't notice that part?"

Peter bites down on his tongue, hard. Everything coming out of Eric's mouth makes him sound like an idiot. It makes him want to scream. Tear his hair out. Throw something. He wants to tell them that _at the time_ it had seemed like a good idea. The best idea. He had felt pretty fucking smart when he'd managed to siphon off a shipment of Amity peace serum using only his computer – hacking into the medical bays delivery records, fabricating the stock sheets. It had taken so much brain power to pull that off, but somehow, it had been the most catastrophic fuck-up. As usual.

And the other stuff? Okay, he had tried to change a few test results so his class would come out ahead of Tris's. And if he'd pushed some of his students a bit too hard – a broken arm here, too many unconscious K.O's there – it had been because he demanded _the best_. Because he just wanted to be _the best_. He had taken the lessons he'd been taught in his own initiation and applied them. But apparently, he's beginning to realise that he applied them all wrong.

Apparently, there's a fucking line.

Nobody says there's a line. Nobody tells you that. They don't _want_ you to know it. Eric really wants you to think he might murder you if you don't get your shit together. They really want you to think that you'll become Factionless if you fail. Dauntless will tell you it's all-or-nothing – they making you _believe_ it. They make you think that it's a doggy-dog world where anything goes.

And then you realise, it's not.

"So…what are you guys gonna do to me?" Peter asks, his throat suddenly dry. He'd rather cut to it now than hear them rehash every single mistake he made that has led him to here. It's too painful.

Max surveys him for one, long moment. His gaze is so considering and level that Peter really believes he might only be making his mind up on his case just then.

"We're going to give you a second chance."

"Oh shit, thank-you-so-much-" Peter exhales, releasing the words along with a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding in. "You won't regret this, I promise."

Max only continues in the same, measured tone, as if Peter has not spoken. "We are going to allow you to keep your spot at training instructor –"

Four visibly radiates disapproval across the table, but keeps his mouth shut.

"- but with conditions."

"Totally. Whatever – I mean. Okay," Peter agrees, just relieved to hear that they're not kicking him out. That he gets to keep his position. This is better than he possibly could have hoped for.

"You're under probation for one whole year. If you do anything else wrong, you _will_ be out. Not just of the leadership programme, but from Dauntless."

"That's fair."

"You will report to Tris for weekly reviews. She will be allowed access to your classes whenever she wishes. If your teaching does not comply to her standards in any way, you're out."

Peter glances at Tris, who has been silent for the entirety of the meeting. He knows why. Because she's probably feeling guilty. Because he's about 99% sure she's the one that ratted him in in the first place. Still, she meets his accusatory stare coolly and defiantly. "Got a problem with that?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

Peter's eyes narrow. "Nope," he returns, popping the 'p' – barely able to keep the sarcasm out of his tone. Of _course_ it was a problem. He'd spent two years trying to prove he was better than Tris and now he had to _report_ to her? He couldn't put a toe out of line, and Tris was so holier-than-thou that he'd probably be out of Dauntless before he could blink. Her standards were somewhere higher in the upper lofty echelons than the usual mere mortal. "Anything else?" he asks Max – because, judging by the man's face, there clearly is.

"Yes. You'll only be assigned one student, seeing as you're incapable of managing a class. You do well with her – and I don't just mean in terms of test scores – we're judging by the fact that you don't psychotically traumatize her with your _shit_ by the end – _then_ we'll see about letting you teach a slightly bigger class."

" _Her_?" Peter questions, at the same time Four cuts in:

"You're going to give some poor kid up as his guinea-pig!?"

"Yes, Peter, Natalie is a 'she'. And this girl's not a 'kid', Tobias. For various confidential reasons that I will not disclose in this meeting, Elizabeth took the aptitude test at the age of nineteen. She's older than your average initiate – this girl is practically an adult. It would be unfair to put her in a class with students three years younger than herself – nor can we deny, however, that she clearly received Dauntless as her test result. So…she'll be training one-on-one with Peter." Max signals for the intern to turn the tape recorder off. "Done. Case closed. Anyone has any complaints, give them to my secretary, I don't want to hear any of crap today."

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 **A/N** Please remember to **review**! What do you think of my take on Peter? I sought of see him as a bit of screw-up, and I've semi-toned down the psychopathic tendencies for the sake of this fic.

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


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